The String, The Rope
by Mlle Buckles
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is a great detective that can solve most any case. However, when he meets a woman who his gift has effected personally, will she eventually go mad because of his ability? Holmes/OC, slight Holmes/Watson.
1. Prelude

**A/N:** Hello, all who happen to stumble across this story! How are you this fine, fine day? I'll have you know I'm fine, just a little. Confused. Anyway, this is my new Holmes/OC story entitled 'The String, The Rope,' and it's almost established why in this chapter. I'unno. Might change the name later. Anywho, this story is (hopefully) gonna be very fun to write, if you guys make it so! Meaning, review. _Please_. I will take any advice on any thing I can change, grammar, constructive criticism, etc. Do you like it? Do you hate it? If so, why? I mean, throw me a line here, you know? Bringing us to chapter one. This first part is a dream, and the second reality. So, yeah. Have fun reading! Mlle Buckles.

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_A girl in her late twenties was walking among the streets, happily. She was mildly attractive, but nothing to get any man worked up for. Her hair feel in brown cascades for her midback, and she wore a simple blue dress. Not top fashion, but simple. Humble, would be a better word for her outfit. Her green eyes darted around around, looking among the strangers who tipped their hats towards her occassionally. She most likely knew them. Probably. Maybe she had taught their grubby little kids who'd simple die if they didn't learn how to play a violin or the viola within a few weeks. Or even the piano, the simplest of all the instruments she taught._

_But she walked on, humming to herself slightly. She wasn't quite sure what her destination was, but she kept walking. It was like a reverse paralyzation. No matter how much she wanted to stop, she couldn't. She had a bad feeling about whatever was at the end of her rather long walk, but she simply couldn't stop moving her feet. In fact, the more she walked, the happier she got, making the bad feeling go away slightly with each step. So she did the only thing she did when she was frightened out of her wits. Hum._

_She hummed down the whole street, occassionally looking in bakery windows, nodding slightly to a few people. Even giving the occassional coin to a poor homeless beggar person playing an instrument._

_But never stopping. She slowed down for these things, but she never stopped moving._

_Not once._

_However, she had reached a top of a hill, and the street went down from the point she now stood on. She had been distracted for a moment by the smell of freshly baked cakes, but she looked down. Oh, she shouldn't have looked down. Down at the bottom of the street was a crowd. The word 'crowd' put it modestly. It was a mob, a riot. And for the first time, her feet froze, in mid step. Slowly, she put her foot down, frowning._

_Quietly, she looked around. No one. A soft wind blew a flyer by her and she desperatly tried to reach for it, when a man pushed past her. She almost fell over, startled, but she slowly regained her composure, looking curiously at the was even more surprised when he turned around, refusing to leave his pace. _

_"Hurry up, miss! Don't want to be late for the show, do you?"_

_The woman shoke her head once, before setting off at a rather quick pace, wondering what the man was talking about. Her speed, though, eventually increased without her knowledge, and she soon found herself running down towards the bottom of the hill._

_Suddenly, her feet froze, her mind still racing ahead. Her thoughts stopped, however, when she picked up a lone flyer on the ground. She looked at it before dropping it from her hand in disgust. Why was her brother on it? He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? He's been missing for years, he couldn't have done anything._

_She looked around, only to find out that she was about twenty meters from the mob, who were absentmindedly chatting about nothing of importance to her._

_Once or twice she caught her name upon their lips, and they suddenly grew quiet when she looked at them, curiously. They just pointed at her, their eyes empty of emotion. Then the crowd seemed to spread apart for her, and she suddenly she wasn't so sure about walking on. But her feet kept moving, in a slow crawl now. She was fearful; not for her life, but she feared for someone else's. When she reached the middle she gasped in fear._

_There, standing in front of her, were the gallows._

* * *

Olivia H. Irings awoke with a start. Her somewhat pleasant dream had turned rather ugly within a matter of seconds. She lifted herself from her laying position to a sitting position and tried to keep her breathing under control. After about two minutes of heavy breathing, she had finally managed to at least control her breath. Her thoughts, however, were another story. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of why she was still having these dreams. It had been months, almost a year, and yet she was still haunted by the sight. Even though she dared not touch her forehead, she did so anyway. She silently cursed herself when her long fingers touched the wet, sticky droplets of sweat that had formed on her skin.

Realizing this, she flung herself back down to laying, and stayed there for at least ten more minutes, just trying to control her thoughts. Her hand had drifted its way over to a silver pocket watch on a night stand next to the small bed. She popped it open, and looked at the time, slightly baffled. A quater past eight. Her shop didn't open until nine, and her assistant would arrive in fifteen minutes.

She looked at it for several minutes, almost as if staring at it would make it go backwards. After deeming this not the case, she sat up, flinging her feet over the edge of the bed. She swung her legs back and forth, looking at her faded blue curtains. She sighed, and returned her attention to the nightstand. On it lay a silver brush and mirror, a small glass of water, and a small blue vase with a few daisies in it. She groaned, picking up the brush first. Almost silently, she brushed through her long brown hair, before standing up to get a better view of it in a large mirror.

So she did the only thing a woman would do when admiring her hair. Twirls. In her long white nightgown, she softly twirled on her feet, smiling. Unfourtunately, she had to pin her long hair up for her work day. So she quickly grabbed a couple pins off her dresser and pinned up her hair in a neat bun. When the first chore of the day was done, she opened the first drawer and got changed into a very simple working dress. However, it was still nice. It looked more like a simple blue dress that went down to her mid-calf, but was worn over a collared white shirt. She quietly rolled up the sleeves, and tied a blue bow under the dresses' collar.

And this was when she heard a bell chime downstairs, meaning that her assistant had arrived. However, instead of coming straight to the stairs and calling up like he always did, he seemed to be talking to someone. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't own this shop. And we don't open until nine, either way. Surely you can wait fifteen minutes." She wandered down the creaky stairs, only to be greeted by the back room of the shop. Eventually, she made it to the front, and saw who her assistant was talking to. Doctor Johnathan Watson.


	2. Commission

A/N: Hello, everybody! Again! How is everyone on this fine, fine day? Still a bit baffled, but pretty good. Got one review. That's. . . Good. Thank you, SousaSpectacular! Thank you soooo much for being the first. . . and only. . . person to review! Thank you! But still. I'unno if I should be pleased or not. Do you guys like it? Do you hate it yet? C'mon! Anywho, Sousa, nooo, Watson's not her brother. And it may be her brother. . . Little bit is revealed in this chapter. Also, her hatred for Holmes is sort of revealed. Have fun reading Chapter Two of The String, The Rope, Commission.

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Olivia had only saw him from a mirror in the backroom of her shop, but she slowly eased her way to her counter towards the back of the shop, grabbing her newly cleaned white work apron. She put her head through the opening, just as her assistant noticed her. She placed her index finger over her mouth, not evening making the'shh' sound. But he spoke away, "Oh, hello, Miss Irings, we have a costumer here, and I think he wants to talk to you."

She glared at him, but nodded regardless, her hands tying a bow behind her back with the two long white ties. Her assistant moved back, placing his bags on her counter, before going to the back of the shop to get changed into work clothes. Olivia looked at Doctor Watson for a second before opening her mouth to ask him what he wanted. In a polite way, of course. This time was no time for little screw ups such as being rude. Especially someone close to detectives, such as Sherlock Holmes, the man who single handedly ruined her life without even saying one word to her.

However, Johnathan had opened his mouth first. "Oh, hello, Miss Irings?" She closed her mouth and nodded, listening carefully. "Oh, right. I need to buy a present for a friend, do you mind if I come in?"

She looked around her shop, grimacing. On one side of the shop was string instruments, the other brass and woodwinds. Towards the back wall of the front of the shop was two pianos, and on one rested a catalog. She looked back at Doctor Watson, then at her shop again. Eventually, she turned to him, and opened the door further so he could walk in. "Thank you, Miss Irings."

She nodded once and then proceeded to walk hastily over to her counter, sitting on a stool whilst Doctor Watson looked at the violins. She stared at him thoughtfully, remembering the first time I had met him. It was in a different shop, not too far away, but somewhat larger than this one. He had come to ask her some questions about her missing brother. She had wondered why, after all, it had been around four years since his abrupt disappearance, so why would anyone be concerned with him? Her family had even held a funeral for her dead brother. Eventually, after about five minutes of silence and thinking to herself, she turned back to her work.

One of her commissions right now was to finish a black violin with an engraving on the bow and back of it. She was already done with the engraving, and that was the only part that really concerned her. So right now she was fixing the strings on it, winding them up slowly. Her assistant, Thomas, eventually came out, wearing his work clothes and apron. She motioned for him to help the doctor, and he nodded a few times, walking over to him. "Hello, sir. How may I help you today?"

Out of the corner of her green eyes, she saw Doctor Watson admiring a very nice violin. He turned to Thomas, frowning. "I have a friend who plays the violin non stop, you see," he stopped talking, looking towards Olivia once. She had stopped what she was doing to look up at him, staring off into space. She nodded once, gesturing for him to continue. He seemed to be talking to her instead of her assistant. "And see, my friend broke their violin due to some. . . Unfortunate accident."

She nodded again, standing up. "And I've come here to replace it." She looked at him, then took the violin out of his hands. She slowly opened her mouth and spoke for the first time. "This is a very nice one you've picked out."

Her assistant's eyes lit up at her soft voice, and stood behind her, looking over her shoulder. She picked up a matching bow, and placed the violin on left shoulder, resting her chin on it. Slowly, she brought down the bow on the strings and started playing a simple scale. "It plays nice," she added, when she was done, and had set the violin down. As an afterthought, she added, "Good for classical music."

"Wonderful then. I'll take it. How much?" Doctor Watson said, looking at her smiling.

She looked at Doctor Watson as he pulled out what appeared to by money. She shook her head quickly, "This one is not for sale." She quickly stood in front of the violin, blocking him from reaching it.

He looked at Miss Irings curiously. "What she means is, all the instruments out here are models. We sell new ones. Freshly prepared ones." Her assistant filled in the blanks for her. She looked at the violin, running a finger across the side of it. The wood was hard, smoothed down then polished. It was amazing to her. "These all belong to her. She knows each of them personally, and refuses to sell any of her models."

She snapped her head up, looking at Doctor Watson as he spoke, "I'll commission you, then. It says outside you do those, don't you?" She nodded, and motioned for him to follow. He stood on the other side of her counter, and she gently moved the black violin out of the way, grabbing a worn leather book with paper slips sticking out of it. She opened it to the month, and skimmed for the day. Today she had to deliver a violin that was already finished, and three days from now she had to deliver the black one. She gestured for Thomas to fetch the violin that Doctor Watson had picked out, and he went to get it, smiling.

He handed it back to the brunette musician, who in turn flipped it over. She quickly wrote the model in the book, before handing the violin back to her assistant. Olivia looked up at Doctor Watson again, before writing down his name. He looked at her curvy handwriting, nervously. "So I take it you've read about me in the paper?"

She looked at him, cocking an eyebrow, before she realised what he meant; she had written his name without asking him. Well, regardless, he must not remember her, which slightly irked her. Doctor Watson was the one who had asked her about her brother, reporting the information to Mister Sherlock Holmes. She shook her head, opening her mouth to speak, "You probably do not remember, Doctor Watson; But we've met before."

He looked at her curiously, before shrugging her comment off. She looked down sadly. Oh, so she was forgotten by the people who had ruined her life, but somehow managed to always be remembered as the sister of a supposed maniac? Right, understood. If she ever met this man, Sherlock Holmes, she would certainly give him a piece of her mind. But that would never happen, so she was content with inking out his name from every newspaper she bought. Olivia looked at him, before speaking up again.

"Do you want it to be delivered?"


	3. Friend

A/N:: Alrighty everybody! Chapter three! Whoo! Not even two chapters in and I already have more reviews for a story that has six chapters that I wrote. Hm. . . Anywho! I should probably get moving on. Thanks to the four people who reviewed, and to Sousa, who reviewed twice in the same day for two chapters.

And I know Holmes is supposed to be the great wonderful detective, but there have to be at least a few people who hate his existence on the planet, right? Well, 'Livia is one of 'em. Oh well. Can't make all of them happy, can you?

Also, Sousa. Yeah, I noticed. Actually, interestingly enough, I don't play a string instrument either. My friend Bluesparkle94 does, though. I play flute, and I'm damn proud of it. So most of my information about violins is coming from her.

Moving on, this is chapter three of The String, The Rope. Named_ Friend_.

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Doctor Watson nodded once, telling Olivia that he wanted it delivered to 221b Baker Street on the fifth. Olivia nodded, turning the pages to the fifth of September. She quickly wrote down the address, and mentally noted that this allowed her around a week to finish the violin. Not a preferred amount of time for a commission, but she didn't really care, as long as she was getting paid. The shop had been receiving less and less work since the papers' claims that her brother was a maniac. Thankfully, it had been almost a year since her brother's end, and most people had forgotten about that. But still, she felt as though people were keeping her under a watchful gaze, as if she, too, could snap at any moment.

"Right, now, do you want it to come it to come with a kit? Along with the violin, it comes with a case, some replacement strings, and the like. It costs extra, but it's worth it," Thomas spoke for her. Olivia sent him a grateful nod. Doctor Watson, however, was looking around the shop, nervously. "Sir?"

"Oh, yes, whatever will please him." She nodded, mentally noting his anxiety. She told him the price, and he looked at her, baffled. What did he expect? Not only did he pick one of the most expensive violins in her shop, but prices had risen slightly because of her desperate need for money. Regardless, he handed over the money. Olivia took it and counted it with a wide grin. After Watson had left, she beckoned to Thomas. "It looks like this little shop won't close this month." Thomas smiled along with her. "That's honestly the happiest thing I've heard all week, Olivia." She nodded before putting the money into the lock box, returning the key to a bracelet.

Olivia returned to the instrument and began turning the strings. After an hour of tuning, she went to the back of the shop and placed the violin on another counter, reminding herself to put it in a case later. She walked upstairs to her small flat, and retrieved the dress she wore when she made deliveries. It was blue, and rather nice. It was neither high class nor fancy, but said something more subtle. Peace, passion, and elegance. She closed her door, and quickly changed.

As usual, she did a few twirls in front of her mirror, before waltzing back downstairs. She grabbed a few shillings and pounds, and picked up a black violin case. She glanced at her pocket watch before heading to the door. "I've got a delivery meeting in about twenty minutes, Thomas. When I'm done, I'm going to get us some lunch, alright?"

Thomas nodded silently, working on a trumpet that needed tuning. She walked out of her shop, and hopped down the few stairs, landing on her feet gracefully. Quickly, she looked at the address again. Thankfully, the delivery was only about a quarter of an hour away, and near a local bakery she adored. Glancing down a corner, she paused. Something didn't feel right. She turned around, looking to see if Thomas was following her.

Nothing.

She continued the rest of her walk in paranoia. She kept looking back, and retracing her steps. Eventually, she made it, delivering the instrument to a satisfied customer.

After the delivery, she decided to walk to the local bakery. Olivia was pleased to find that her dear friend, Delilah Wilkins, was sitting at a table in the back, doodling absentmindedly. She walked back, waving happily to the waitress, who in turn smiled and greeted her pleasantly. "Hello, Miss Olivia. How are you today?" Olivia said she was pleasant, and the waitress nodded joyfully. Of the few places she felt normal and accepted in, this was her favorite.

She approached Delilah, who looked up at Olivia through thickly framed spectacles. "Hello, Miss 'Livia." Delilah greeted in her quaint Scottish brogue. Olivia wrinkled her nose, before sitting down. "Hello to you, too, Miss Delilah. May I inquire how your day has been?"Yes, the musician knew it was only around noon, but she was polite above all when with friends. Delilah smiled to her, pointing to a palet of colors and several paintbrushes. "Good, very good," she picked up her painting to show Olivia, "A lily infested pond with a pagoda."

Olivia nodded, before telling the waitress that she was only going to stay for a minute, and wished for two meat pies, and for a small cup of coffee with four creams and six sugars.

Delilah laughed, before smiling towards her friend. "Olivia, did anything happen this morning?"

Olivia groaned, sipping her coffee. 'You have no idea,' she mused to herself, grimacing. "Doctor Watson ordered a violin."

Delilah gasped slightly, but then chuckled. "Oh, Olivia, it's time to get over that, dearest." The musician stared at her dark-red haired friend, aghast, while she choked a bit on her coffee. "Delilah, dearest, they hurt me. My profit for my shop dropped radically when Holmes accused my brother of being a. . .a homicidal maniac," Olivia said, her soft voice barely above a whisper. Delilah nodded, fingering a paintbrush. She quietly picked one, dipped it gently into a cup of water, and slowly brushed it across the pad.

Olivia looked over Delilah's smooth brushstrokes, grinning. "Deliliah, I don't know what I'd do without you, do you know?" Delilah didn't even have to look up to respond, "You'd move on. I hope you would. But we're going to grow old together, Olivia." Olivia nodded, swirling her fingers around in her cup.

Delilah looked around, smiling to her friend. "I'll tell you what. I'll paint you a picture. Free of charge." Olivia lit up, ecstatic. "Really? You really mean it?"

Delilah nodded before motioning to the door. "I'll do it if you let me finish this one. So, please, shoo." Olivia stood up, darting out of the shop with the bag of meat pies in her hand. In her haste, she missed a step. Just as she was about to land flat on her face, a man caught her. She looked up at him, blushing. He was fairly tan, and had dark, unkempt hair. His eyes looked elsewhere, but eventually rested on the musician, who was mumbling her thanks. "Thank you, mister. . .?"

He took a pipe out of his pocket, which Olivia shook off. It wasn't terribly odd for a man to have a pipe, but while he was talking to a woman? Olivia found this rude, quite rude. She scoffed in her mind, taking note of the man's face. She wouldn't forget it. "Smith, John Smith," the man piped up, and Olivia was not amused. However, she thanked the man, Mister Smith, before setting off on her way.

Yet, still, she felt the same eyes following her, but she shrugged them off, deciding what she needed was a good, long lunch.


	4. Duel

A/N: Hello, everybody! Uh. If people read this. Anywho, good news! B has an editor! Yeyeyeyey! Her name is Led(i'unno her username on FF), so be very nice to her or B might lose her editor, and we don't want that to happen! Even though she takes a while. Anyway, this chapter was the first official chapter to be run by her before I post it. Meaning? If you haven't read chapter three, go read it again, because she editted it for me cause she's awesome. And yes, I know her IRL, so I do bug her quite a bit about this stuff.

But bringing us back to The String, The Rope, chapter four. Many names for this chapter have flown around in my head, and I've decided to call it. . .

_Duel._

Because italics and centering something instantly makes it more awesome. Anywho, to Rosewood. You playing flute too? It's a good instrument to play, I think. However, my fingers often get crossed several times. Like, I'll be thinking about something, maybe the percussion, then I'll think, "How am I getting the notes?" and focus on my fingerings, then_ KABLAM_, I miss everything. Do you to that too?

Anyway, basic disclaimer stuffs, don't own anything, yadda yadda yadda. BUT WAIT. I OWN OLIVIA. HAHA! And review, please!

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A week had come and gone, and Olivia H. Irings had an appointment to deliver a violin to 221b Baker Street. However, she had received a note from Doctor Watson a few days prior saying that she should wait in her shop until he arrived to bring her to 221b Baker Street. She looked at her pocket watch, grimacing. It was around one in the afternoon. When was he going to show up? After waiting a bit, she decided she needed to work some more, and pulled on her apron over her dress. However, just as she was getting set to work, the bells chimed, and she picked her head up. "Good afternoon, Miss Irings. Anyway, we should get going, I don't want to keep him waiting too long." Olivia looked around the shop, before nodding. Thomas had the day off, so she had to lock up before they departed.

Olivia threw off her apron, and turned off the lamp. Walking towards the door, she picked up the case without looking and walked outside with Doctor Watson. She motioned for him to wait, whilst she locked up the shop. Quietly, she put the key into her peacoat pocket.

As they walked, she listened to him talk about the person who the violin was for. He was very good at playing the violin, but had a few unusual habits when it came to playing. Apparently, he often played in the middle of the night, often keeping everyone up. Olivia chuckled, but stopped upon noticing the odd look Watson was giving her. She decided to give him a short explanation: she used to do that, too, before she realized that it was distracting from her work. He gave a short laugh, and realized they had reached their destination.

The woman looked up, noticing a billow in the curtains, meaning that someone had been watching them approach. Doctor Watson smiled to her, before opening the door. She thanked him, and walked in, noticing the mess. A loud bang made her jump, pulling her from her thoughts. "Was that a. . .?" she asked, frightened. Watson turned to her, motioning for her to follow him up the stairs. She frowned, picking up her dress one handedly, and followed him up the stairs. He knocked on the door, only to be met by another loud bang. "I'm coming in, Holmes," not bothering to wait for permission.

The violinist suddenly froze, the false smile erased from her face. Holmes? Surely it wasn't _Sherlock_ Holmes. Doctor Watson and Sherlock Holmes worked together on cases, but. . ._'I made a violin for Sherlock Holmes!'_ was her only thought as she tried to step slowly back towards the stairs. Oh, no. She did not want this. Sherlock Holmes was an evil man. She did not wish to meet him. Not in this life time. The scowl on her face must have given her away, for Watson merely grinned. "Don't worry, he's actually quite pleasant when you get to know him."

Doctor Watson opened the door, but hastily shut it before he had time to enter. "He's in a bad mood," he said plainly. Olivia nodded meekly, clutching the violin case for dear life. Eventually, the door creaked open, and a hand reached out and pulled Watson in. He motioned for the brunette to stay put, and she did so grudgingly. A delivery was a delivery, no matter who was receiving it. This thought quickly changed when Olivia heard raised voices and possibly a heated argument. Something about bringing a woman with a violin into someone's home. She looked at her feet. She was the woman with the violin. She was an intruder in Sherlock Holmes' house. Although she despised the man, it hurt being called an intruder.

Then it seemed to die down, and Watson opened the door for her. She entered, and found herself in awe of the room. A mess. A masterpiece. A voice from behind her made her freeze in terror. "Hello, Miss Irings." Why did she recognize that voice?

She turned around to face a man whom she personally thought was rather handsome. He looked oddly familiar, but she couldn't quite place him. She extended her hand for him, and he looked at it for a moment, before shaking it. A pang of hatred surged through her veins, and she scowled mentally. "A pleasure to meet you, Mister Holmes. Now, for your violin."

She handed him the case, only to have him hand it back. "You play it first," he commanded. She looked at him, confused, before glancing at Doctor Watson. He just motioned for her to play, confirming her worst nightmare. "Oh, I. . . Pardon?"

"Watson here has informed me that you play the violin rather well. I would like you to play it first." She stared at him for a moment, but nodded in agreement. Carefully, she pulled the violin and bow out of the case. Both eyes, Sherlock Holmes' and Doctor Watson's, were glued to her and the instrument. She looked at Watson once more, hoping for some encouragement. He just nodded. She placed it on her left shoulder, and slowly pulled the bow across the string. She fixed the strings, tightening one, and played another note. She repeated this process until she was content that it was in tune again. Then, the female violinist quickly played a chromatic scale in an eighth note pattern.

Sherlock, however, was not impressed. Not that she meant to impress him, but really, he could have been a _little_ respectful. She locked eyes with him, sensing a challenge. A fire lit in her soul, and she placed the violin once again to her shoulder. She ignored Watson this time, and played a lively Irish fiddle tune. After about a minute or two of playing, the song stopped, and Doctor Watson clapped a few times while Sherlock picked up another violin, shooting her a cocky look. Olivia smiled. He began a different song, slightly harder. The female violinist picked up on the rhythm instantly, and tapped her foot.

However, just as he was about to put it down, she picked up the new violin and played along, repeating his song, yet adding to it. He joined in and they stood there, silently daring the other to stop playing. Olivia was doing twirls, and walking around in rhythm as Holmes stood there, keeping time with his foot. Watson coughed loudly, and Olivia was cut off with a shrill note.

"Oh, yes. Sorry." Olivia hung her head in embarrassment, and returned the instrument to its case. She placed it on a nearby table, and bowed slightly. "Thank you for your patronage, Doctor Watson. If you two don't mind, I'll show myself out." She quickly ducked out of the room, and heard Doctor Watson say something along the lines of 'what do you think' or the like. Taking quick strides, she found herself almost running out of the house with a horrible blush on her face. While quickly hailing a cab, Olivia glanced up at the window, to see Sherlock's face peering out. The ride home was a blur, as all she could think to herself was, _'Oh, that was so awful!'_

Eventually, she came to her shop, about a ten minute cab drive away, and trotted in, locking the door behind her. She hurried upstairs, finding a meat pie on her dresser. On it was a note, reading:

_'You weren't here when I came by, so I left this up here. -Thomas'_

She stared at the note, grinning like mad. _'Thank God for Thomas'_, she thought, because now she could stay inside to practice. Olivia glanced around her room, realizing she had nothing to drink. She cursed and quickly ran downstairs, finding a plate and silverware set, but finding nothing to drink. She scoured her tiny kitchenette, only to find empty bottles of alcohol. She grimaced, before racing outside. Luckily, on the corner was a small general store. She hastily locked her door, and walked at a quick pace to the store, smiling as she opened the door and was greeted by a chime.


	5. Hangover

A/N: Hello, everybody! *ducks underneath table* DONT HIT ME! It's not me, it's the editor! Blame Ledded! It's her fault! Blame the editor! Just know pitchforks! Anyway, thank you guys so much for liking Ollie's character! Seriously! I love you guys so much! Anyone want to try and draw Ollie? Or write something about her? Since people like her so much. . . Ledded's drawing a picture of her, and called her 'Olive Oil,' so, really, call her anything you want at this point. But thank you guys! And leave more reviews, please! B loves reviews! B doesn't bite! It makes B's day, actually! C'mon!

Moving on, this chapter is called _Hangover _because Ollie has one. Uh. Next chapter would be more interesting, I swear! And the plot'll get here soon, I swear!

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After Olivia had bought drinks for her kitchen, she returned to her flat, holding a generously sized bottle of whiskey. She brought it upstairs, taking a swig of it. Quickly, the musician got out her violin, cut herself a piece of pie, and began playing.

The next morning was awful. Olivia had woken up groggy, and her head hurt like a horse had kicked it. She grimaced when the bell rang downstairs at eight thirty. "Olivia?" Thomas called, and she groaned. "Up here, Thomas. Come up, please." She heard his footsteps and him gasp when he saw her, the violin and bow thrown onto the floor, and the empty bottle on the dresser. "Olivia Hawkins Irings, do not tell me you drank this whole bottle," Thomas said, picking up the empty bottle and swishing around what little liquid was left.

Olivia hiccupped, and nodded hopelessly. Thomas sighed, and picked up the abandoned violin. "Fine. You stay up here and rest. I'll run the shop for today." She nodded, before lying back down. He left, and she slowly drifted back to sleep.

However, her slumber was disturbed by Thomas, who shook her awake. "Olivia, you have a visitor."

Olivia nodded, and to her surprise, Doctor Watson walked in. She looked at him, wearily. "Doctor Watson. It's a pleasure. May I ask why you have come to visit me?" He looked at her, then at Thomas, who shrugged. "Miss Irings, did you drink something last night?" Olivia nodded once, assuming she had a slur.

Watson shook it off, and then shooed Thomas. She nodded to her assistant, frowning. Even though she preferred being with a friend whilst talking to the doctor, she let it go. Once he was downstairs, Doctor Watson closed the door. "Holmes would like to see you tomorrow for tea. I assume it's to talk to you about violins."

Olivia frowned, biting her lip. She had to find some way out of this. After a moment of silence, she gravely shook her head. "Tomorrow I am due to teach a student how to play the viola." He shook his head, "He won't like that. What about the day after?"

"Doctor Watson, are you sure it's Holmes that wants to see me? Or is it you, wanting to give Holmes a distraction?" He froze, staring at Olivia. Then he laughed. Olivia looked at him, before standing up. "No, no, sit down Miss Irings," He said, finally, seating himself on her bench near the window. She sat down, too, but brushed her hair out and tried to stay alert.

Watson smiled towards her, looking at the violin that now rested at her feet. "Do you play a lot, Miss Irings?"

Olivia looked at him, before smiling charmingly. Violins? Really? Wasn't it quite obvious from yesterday's little tiff that she had been playing for awhile? She scowled mentally, but kept up the false smile. "Oh yes, very much so. Ever since I was a little girl of eight. Now I'm twenty years that girl's senior." He chuckled, and she looked at the violin, grinning. With care and ease, Olivia picked it up off the end of her bed, handing it to him gently. "Go on, take him."

"Him?" Watson asked, taking the violin out of her hands. She nodded curtly, before replying, "Well, he's not exactly a girl, now is he?" He gave a small look of questioning, before looking it over. "It's very nice. May I ask where you got it?"

Olivia smiled warmly, "This violin was handcrafted in Florence, Italy." She was proud of it. Violins like that were difficult to come by, and rare in London. They deserved to be treated with care and adoration. She glanced at his surprised expression as he quickly and carefully passed her the violin back. "Are you sure you don't wish to see Mr. Holmes tomorrow for tea?"

She looked at him as he stood up. "It's not that I don't wish it. It's the fact that I have a lesson tomorrow. . ." She trailed off, mumbling as she fiddled with her violin strings. Mentally, she was screaming. Who would be her decoy? Certainly, she needed one. Thomas would watch the shop tomorrow, but she needed to go over to someone's house to try to be honest! Maybe Delilah, she would be understanding, certainly. "Pardon, Miss Irings?" Watson was about to leave, and she grimaced, not believing what she was about to do. "Any day besides tomorrow and Thursdays, I am free for tea with Mr. Holmes." He nodded, somewhat pleased with himself, and turned to exit. "However, Doctor Watson, please remember that I do not wish to be an intruder in anyone's home. Or a distraction."

Watson nodded, smiling as he said good bye and wished her well. She thanked him and he was gone. Soon after she heard the bell chime, Thomas was up at her bedside in an instant. "What did the handsome man want?" She looked at him doubtfully, before speaking. "_Doctor Watson _wanted to know if I wanted to have tea with his partner tomorrow. I politely told him no, and that I had to teach the viola tomorrow --" "You lying rat!" Thomas said, playing around joyfully. He's a better brother than my own, she supposed. She looked at him from her spot on the bed. "Thomas, you know as well as I do that I do not need a distraction right now. My little shop is hanging on just barely, thanks to Doctor Watson's kind patronage."

Thomas nodded, still not letting it go. He grumbled, saying something about how Olivia needed to get married. Olivia gasped in mock pain, before telling Thomas to go back to work.


	6. Brother

**A/N**: Hello, dearest readers! I have decided to drop my dear editor, Ledded, unless she gives me some things to work with. So, here's chapter six, beta'd and edit'd by moi, and spell check. Hmmm, where to begin. Ledded, if you read this, sorry, but you take forever. I wish I was joking.

Anyway, Chapter six, and after some time, I have decided to call it

_Brother_

Because we're gonna learn a bit more about who this 'brother' character is, right? Alright! This is kinda sad, so I'm sorry. And yes, I know, more Holmes. He's in the next one, I swear! And a few mentions in this one! - B

* * *

The rest of the afternoon was spent in moderate quiet, and Olivia enjoyed the peace. But she soon grew bored of it. She picked up herself, looking around her flat, quietly. She was sitting on her rather small bed, which despite everything that happened to it, was rather comfortable.

Next to her bed was her nightstand, and the daisies on it looked rather sad and droopy now. Olivia sighed, bringing them to a small bathroom jutting off her room next to her closet. She filled the vase with water, before setting it back on the nightstand. Carefully, she touched one of the daisy's petals, before muttering, "_Petites fleurs, parlez a moi, s'il vous plait_."

The daisy, however, remained quiet and peaceful, and Olivia returned her attention to the room. Next to her window was her wooden dresser, with most of her working dresses. She stood in front of it now, looking solemnly at the bottom left drawer. She knelt down, and pulled it open slowly, as if it might explode if she moved to fast. In the bottom left drawer were newspaper clippings.

Mostly about her brother, and Holmes, the man she had met recently. She had so carefully blotted out the man's name every time it appeared in the clear font, but Doctor Watson's remained clear. The papers with her brother on them seemed void of ink and tears, and all they received were empty glances, maybe a mutter of 'why,' but that was it.

There were two clippings Olivia kept about herself, and those were so carefully placed on top. One had her picture on it, holding a violin, and she truly looked happy. That was the time she had gotten into to perform with a very prestigious orchestra, and the picture was taken after. She was eighteen, a mature adult, and planned on opening a music shop, the article read. It went on to say something about passion with string instruments, and the then Olivia was a true musician, through and through.

The now Olivia was still a musician, but also a shopkeeper, making it that harder to find time to practice. The violinist turned her head to her mirror, and flipped it over, looking at the sealed envelope that was taped carefully to the back. Written on it was the nice, neat script of her brother that read, '_When you've forgiven me_.' She breathed a sigh of relief, and placed the mirror back, tears forming in her green eyes.

She had forgiven her brother, long since then, actually. She had forgiven him when she walked away from his jail cell a few minutes before his hanging. But opening the envelope right then and there seemed. . . She struggled to find a word for it, but she couldn't find any that fit. It seemed to her as if she would've been mocking him and if she had opened the letter right then and there. Mocking his last request of seeing her. She remembered that day, like it was yesterday.

_Olivia Irings, a violinist in her late twenties, walked down the sidewalk to the jail where her brother was being kept at. In about two hours, the whole ordeal for him would be over, but for the young woman, the battle would still be raging like wildfire. Ever since the great detective Sherlock Holmes had declared that her brother was the main suspect in a triple homicide, her almost perfect life had been falling apart._

_Her fiancé had broken off their engagement, her shop's income had dropped horribly, people even came into her shop to curse her and her family's name, her children, her brother. _

_The parents of the children she taught placed their children with other teachers. Another month of this and she'd have to move shop, scaling down quite a bit. _

_But she walked on, in anger, to her brother. He had made her his last request, which disgusted her. If people found this out, she would never have the once perfect life she had. When she reached the jail, she was led by an officer to her brother's cell. He was alone, most likely because this is the cell where people went before they were hanged. He looked at her, with his green eyes, so much like hers. He stood up, and walked to the bars, sticking his arm through to ruffle her hair. "Hello, dearest sister Olivia. Might I inquire how you've been?"_

_Olivia bit the inside of her cheek, thinking of a proper answer. Her brother chuckled at his sister, before rubbing her arm. "You always were one to think before you answered simple questions like that," her brother said, locking eyes with his younger sibling. _

_Olivia looked enraged, but her brother looked peaceful. He looked down, and picked up one of her hands. Her left. He looked at her disappointedly, before he spoke in a soft voice._

_"Why have you stopped playing, sister? You were always so good at it. I remember when we were kids, when you got that violin when you were eight, oh, how your face lit up!" He chuckled, a blank look on his face, telling Olivia that he was reliving that moment in time. She hissed softly at him, and he returned back to reality. "Right. Now, the reason I brought you here. I know you're a bit frustrated with me for committing those horrible acts, but I hope one day you'll forgive me."_

_The violinist nodded slowly, biting her lip to keep her from speaking and saying something rude. Her brother pulled her closer, and gently gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Good bye, dearest sister. I'll miss you." _

_He slipped an envelope into her left hand, and let go of her. She looked at it for a moment, before a single tear slid down her cheek. She felt saddened, and all she wanted to do was throw her arms around her brother, but the bars made that impossible. "_I'll miss you, too, dearest brother_," Olivia said as she slid away from the bars. She gave a slight wave to her brother, before nodding to the guard that she wanted to be taken back to the front. _

The now Olivia rubbed away a few tears that were rolling down her face as she looked at the article in which Holmes had '_so cleverly found out that O. H. Irings had been the murderer all along_,' as the reporter put it. Olivia rubbed her eyes, and brought herself back to the bed, lying down. Slowly, she began falling asleep, but just as she was, she mumbled, "_Why, dearest Oscar_?"


	7. Dancer

**A/N**:: Hello, everybody! How are you all today? I'm wonderful! Anyway, moving on! This chapter. . . has no Ollie! So those of you getting sick of her can relax. Alright. This chapter is named Dancer. You'll find out in a few paragraphs why. Right. I don't own anything. Yadda yadda yadda. Well. On with the story! - B

* * *

'_One two three four, one two three four_,' a pale blond woman thought as she jumped across the dance hall, before fumbling, cursing herself silently. She breathed heavily, before grabbing her sides. Her hands gripped her sides, wrapping almost all the way around her petite form. She frowned at herself, before starting the count again. When she jumped this time, she landed flawlessly on her right toes, bringing her left leg up and spinning quickly.

She opened her eyes, before clapping happily to herself. She repeated this process until she was content that she had the move down flawlessly. When she was, she pulled off her ballet shoes, revealing pink flesh, her achilles' tendon bleeding slightly. She rubbed her feet slowly, but groaned, deciding that this could be saved for later. Her looked at her cup of water, and smiled, picking it up and bringing it to her lips.

After the whole glass was gone, she rubbed the remaining droplets around her mouth, before she fell to the floor, her vision growing blurry. A man stepped out of the shadows, slowly slinking forward. He was going in and out of focus to her, but when he knelt down, she got a clear look at his face. His blue eyes looked at her, before smiling warmly. "That's comet, dear. Don't worry. Just go to sleep, it'll all be over soon."

His gloved hand covered her eyes, and slowly her body stopped moving. The man grinned wickedly, before wrapping his gloved hands around her throat, choking her. After about three minutes, he put two fingers to her throat, finding no pulse. The blue eyed man pulled out a knife, and set to work.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was puzzled. He sat over a file of the death of two girls, looking at them, trying to find some connection between them. Both were murders, and both had a number and a letter written on them. With the first murder, there was one note, giving a eighteen letter space, separated by three spaces. Sure, these spaces could be filled with the name of the next victim, leading Holmes to believe that the crimes were connected. But the second murder came with a note just like the first, leaving a twenty two letter space, leading Holmes to believe there was going to be a third victim.

Holmes looked over his notes again, rubbing the bridge between his nose. The first victim was Praisley Overdeen, a poet, writing poems for the local newspaper. She was in her late twenties, going on thirty in March. Carved into her right hand was the letter O and the first note. In her right hand was a comedy face mask. On the back of it was the number six. Strapped to her face was the tragedy mask. The rest of her body remained untouched, besides the stab wound to her heart. His partner, Doctor Watson, had proved these to be after death.

The second victim was Juliette T. Whiticker, an actress. He realized the connection between the comedy and tradegy masks and the actress imediately. The body of Miss Whiticker was in slightly worse condition, but not by much. The only wounds she had were once again, caused after death. A slit throat and a heart stab wound. On her feet were dancer's shoes, and the body wore a simple dancing dress. The second note was written on the bottom's of the right shoe. On the bottom of the feet however, were two carvings. On the right was T, the left a seven.

All this lead Holmes to believe that the next victim would be a dancer with a twenty two letter long name. But the notes grew steadily harder to figure out, as if the killer was taunting him slowly. Besides, what was the connection between these women?

Just as Holmes was about to do something else, Watson knocked on the door and let himself in. Holmes instantly noticed the smug look on his face, and looked at him disapprovingly. "Watson, where were you?" Watson looked around, before settling his eyes on Holmes. "Oh? Me? No where, why do you ask?"

Holmes looked at him as Watson sat down. "You can't be no where, Watson. Where were you?" Watson looked at the new violin that rested next to Holmes, and smiled. "With Mary."

Holmes followed Watson's line of vision, and scowled when he saw the new violin. "You went to see Miss Irings, didn't you?" Watson froze, knowing he'd been caught. He looked at Holmes, putting his feet up. "Alright, you got me, Holmes. And do you know what Miss Irings said? She said that she wouldn't actually mind having tea with you on Wednesday." Holmes looked at him wide-eyed, before mumbling 'not available.'

Watson looked at Holmes, frowning. "You, Holmes, are going to have tea with Miss Irings next Wednesday at noon. At least I'm giving you a week instead of just bringing her in here like I did last time. Also, I've noticed you've grown rather fond of that violin." Holmes shrugged, saying something along the lines of, 'it's a good violin.'

Watson rolled his eyes, before looking at the file. He, too, was stumped. Just at that very moment, Inspector Lestrade knocked on the door before letting himself in. "Holmes, Watson. I'm sorry to inform you, but --"

"You've found the dancer?" Holmes asked, one eyebrow cocked.


	8. Wednesday

**A/N**: Hello, one and all! It's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry, but I had some stress recently, what with state required tests and what not. This chapter is pretty short, so dont be getting you knickers in a twist when you reach the bottom of the page so quick! Chapter eight is called Wednesday. Cause it's a Wednesday. Anyway, I don't know if anyone will see this in time, but on **saturday**, at **Mega Con** in Orlando, I will be walking around in a labcoat, alright lovelies? If you're there, and you read this in time, come see me, please! I'll prolly be walking around with two other girls, and holding a Headcrab from the game _Half-Life_, but that'll be my costume. See you there, dearies! - Buckles

* * *

Olivia woke up in a daze. It was Wednesday, she knew that for sure. She rubbed her eyes, before scowling. It had been almost ten days since she had told Doctor Watson that she would have tea with Holmes. Perhaps he had forgotten? She would've liked it that way. She stood up, stretching gently as she picked herself off the bed. Yawning, she pulled out the blue dress that she wore to work, and slowly pulled it on, only to realize that it was only a quarter past eight. She sighed, before trotting down stairs, making some tea for her and Thomas.

The violinist dozed off, only to wake to the tea kettle blowing softly. She groaned, and poured herself and Thomas a cup of tea, waiting for him to arrive. Today was one of those days. Where she and Thomas had literally nothing to do. No commissions. No deliveries. These days were becoming less and less frequent, she observed, but that didn't mean she took them for her advantage. She often wasted these days away, playing the violin with Thomas on the piano.

When Thomas came, he looked at Olivia surprised. "What are you doing awake, Olivia?" The girl sighed, before saying, "I'm not quite sure myself." Thomas nodded, setting down a bag that smelled like sweets. "Guess what, Olivia? Oh, I can't stand not telling you! I'm going to propose to June!" Olivia lit up, standing up to congratulate him. "Oh, Thomas, I'm so happy for you! Now, why haven't I met this wonderful June Robins yet?"

Thomas scratched the back of his head. "I didn't want to introduce you two until it was official."

Oh, right. Because introducing her, the younger sister of a homicidal maniac, was a bad idea after the first month. Thomas had been talking about her nonstop for the last five or so months. Olivia smiled regardless, shaking his hand. "I will meet her though, right?" He smiled widely, before nodding happily. "Of course!"

Olivia nodded, before setting once again to her work, which really wasn't work today. Thomas stared off into space, and Olivia just sipped her tea, looking down at a new sheet of staved paper. Across the top, she had written in nice font, "The Fortune of Some."

She then sat, staring off into space, often grabbing the nearest violin and playing a few notes, before nodding quickly and jotting something down. However, around eleven thirty, the bell chimed, and Olivia, who had been in the back room, stopped playing, looking into the mirror to see Doctor Watson looking around. Thomas smiled to him, before asking him what he wanted. Watson told him that he wanted to see the female violinst for tea. Thomas just smiled, before Olivia knew she had to come out. Her green eyes peered around the corner first, before she rose her eyebrows curiously, asking the doctor 'today?' without speaking.

Doctor Watson just smiled, before nodding slightly. "My partner would like to have tea with you, Miss Irings." Olivia huffed, before stepping out. "Oh, alright then. Pardon me, then, I have to go get changed," Watson stopped her, telling her that his partner wasn't that picky about what she wore. In fact, he preferred her wearing normal clothes. Olivia nodded, but headed upstairs. The doctor followed her to the stairs, before yelling up, "Don't forget your violin, Miss Irings!"

Olivia huffed, throwing off her apron angrily. She would've liked him to forget ever remeeting her, or introducing her to Sherlock Holmes. But she groaned, before placing her handcrafted violin in a black case with it's matching bow. She unpinned her hair and brushed it out once, before scowling at her reflection. She joined Doctor Watson downstairs, and left after telling Thomas he could leave after noon if no one showed up.

Her and Doctor Watson walked in almost silence, when he suddenly asked, "Miss Irings, have we met before?" In her mind, she was screaming 'DON'T SAY ANYTHING,' but she simply replied with a short 'yes.' The doctor nodded, before returning to silence. Olivia didn't like the silence exactly, but then again, she didn't like this wole sitiuation at all.

Eventually, they found themselves at the doors of 221B Baker Street once again, and Olivia felt a strong sense of deja vu. But this time no one had looked out the window, so she thought she was safe. However, once they reached the door, the doctor stopped, his hand on the door handle. "I want to try something, can you get out your violin? I'll carry the case up," Olivia nodded, unsure what he was planning.

She placed her case on the ground, pulling the violin out, almost positive it was still in tune. She pulled the bow out, before Watson picked her case. He turned to her, and spoke in a whisper. "As soon I open the door, I want you to play anything that comes to mind." The female violinist nodded, placing the bow to the string. When the door creaked open, she instantly started playing a sad tune, stepping inside, and letting the house fill with her tune.

Then there was a soft silence besides Olivia's playing. She continued to play regardless, when suddenly a loud crash pulled her from her thoughts. It wasn't like last time. It sounded like something had broken. However, she kept playing, and she found herself surprised when a second violin had joined from upstairs. Doctor Watson motioned for her to continue playing, and she did, slowly stepping up the stairs. Watson followed behind, and stepped in front of her when Olivia motioned for him to pass.

The second violin sounded sad, too; however, it was slightly trying to speed up the beat, trying to get her to go faster. Like the second violin was trying to cheer up the first. Olivia gave in, speeding up, before the doctor opened the door.


	9. Formal

BUCKLES NOTE:: Heeeeey guys, what's up? No, it hasn't been like. Forever since I've updated, shut up! Anyway, this is longer than I expected it to be, so enjoy it, it'll prolly have to last a few months. Yeeeeeeeah. Anyway, I'm pretty much gonna be trolling around a lot of places(cons) this summer, so if you're in FLORIDA and are expected to come to some CONVENTIONS this summer, leave me a message and I'll see if I can try to not avoid you at all costs. Anyway, I'm out of school, which is awesome, especially for you guys, cause that means I tend to update more in the summer, so thumbs up you guys! Anyway, here's chapter nine of TSTR, titled

_Formal_

Cause I guess they meet each other formally now. Hah, awesome. Alright, review you guys! Read on, readers! Thanks! -B

* * *

Olivia stepped softly into the room, glancing at the couch where Holmes sat at. He was facing away from them. Through a mirror near him, she saw that his eyes were closed. She got played softer, trying to be quiet and dance around him. She stopped behind him, playing a few solemn chords, before walking to a couch across from him. They finished the song together, before the detective opened his eyes and looked at her, a smug look on his face. "You're a very good violin player, Miss Irings. May I enquire how long you've been playing?"

Olivia flashed him a very good false smile, before answering with, "Almost twenty one years. And yourself?" Holmes looked at her, before giving her a reply, "Almost a decade." Olivia smiled to him, before looking at Doctor Watson, who stood behind Holmes. "You two have fun now, I'm going to go visit Mary. Don't do anything rash, Holmes, understand?" Holmes nodded, looking up at his friend, before back to Miss Irings. He quietly poured her some tea, then himself, and Olivia added sugar and cream to hers. When the door shut, he sighed angrily. "All he does it visit Mary, leaving me alone. Only this time he brought me a play-mate," he said, in a low voice whilst Olivia drank her tea politely. She placed her cup down to its saucer, before responding with, "Who is Miss Mary?"

She wanted to scowl and scream and yell and kick and punch the man in front of her. She had to remember the he _ruined_ her life. But she hadn't counted on the fact that he was rather handsome. She honestly hadn't expected that. She let out a quick breath to keep her face from going red, but cleverly disguised it as blowing off her tea. What she had expected was moles, baldness, fatness, just in general revolting. She also wasn't expecting his bad manner about meeting her formally. He seemed rather irked that he had met her, she decided, and when the doctor was gone he proceeded to curse Watson for bringing her into his home. Oh how she just wanted to smack his handsome face, and storm off, leaving him to himself. But that would be too easy. That's what he wanted, and she wouldn't let him have that.

Olivia opened her eyes, mentally cheering and her features set. Her new goal would was now set, and she was determined to follow it through to the end. Her green eyes flared with determination, before they became clear, and Holmes quickly scoffed, and she assumed that he had caught it. That was good, she decided. He still didn't know that she wanted to just down right bother him and torture him with her presence until he finally snapped and forced her out of his house. She decided to later think about her plan, but this was the gist of it. She looked at Holmes, who was looking at her oddly. "Miss Irings?"

"Pardon? I didn't catch that."

Holmes frowned to her quickly, before telling her again that it was his fiancée. Olivia nodded twice, sipping her tea again, then telling Holmes that if they were engaged this was acceptable. It was within reason, though, she supposed. Her and her former fiancé had spent many whole days together before he called the wedding off.

Holmes looked at her square in the eye, and Olivia gazed around, trying to avoid it and failing quite miserably. "You don't know Miss Mary, though, Miss Irings," Holmes said, with an air of finality. Olivia huffed, enraged with Holmes blowing her off. If anyone here was going to be blown off, it was going to be him, and it was going to end in one way: him getting smacked in the face and her leaving in a hurry. "By your tone, Mister Holmes, it sounds as if you don't like this Miss Mary, do you?"

"She was very rude when we first met, so yes, I suppose you could say that."

"Really now? Did you do anything to upset her that caused her to be rude?" Olivia asked, pouring herself some more tea, and adding the proper ingredients. Sherlock looked at her for a second, before chuckling. "I have a feeling that I am upsetting you too, Miss Irings. But yes, she had insisted that I tell her about herself after just meeting her."

Olivia looked at him, before giving him a smug look. He was concerned about how she felt now, but not how she felt when her brother was accused of being a murderer. There was no irony there, and she felt better now than she did then. "Well, then, I insist you do the same to me, Mister Holmes," she said in a sickly sweet voice, before he smiled. "If you insist, Miss Irings."

It was like giving permission of a robber to just walk around in a museum at night with no security, it was opening the gates of hell. He then proceeded to stare at her for a minute, making her rather uncomfortable, and she squirmed for a moment, before he opened his mouth. It would be this exact moment that she would regret, she later mused. "You are in your late twenties, or early thirties," he started, but Olivia was already pissed. She didn't look more than twenty-nine, did she?

"—And you've been playing the violin, among other instruments, for most your life. You most likely are not rich, due the state of your dress, considering it has holes and ink smudges towards the bottom of it. However, it seems you do have enough to keep getting it hemmed, because there are some seems that look like they've been taken out." Olivia considered this, giving a slightly nod of her head, her eyes rolling. She didn't have enough to afford a new dress at one time, but she had taken a liking to this dress since it flattered her, and she decided to get it hemmed rather than just throwing it out and buying a new one.

"You also run a shop, too, if I'm correct. Your sleeves are rolled up to be around your elbows, meaning that you're probably working a lot and your sleeves get in the way or you might not want to get them dirtied in a spill, of, oh say, resin? It only makes sense that you would be running a music shop, since you did deliver me a violin the other day." Olivia nodded, slightly amused; this was getting fun. Subconsciously, she moved to the edge of her seat, leaning in closer to hear more. She was interested, certainly. This 'Miss Mary' must've been rather stiff-lipped to have taken this the wrong way, she mused. That or Holmes must've been worse with her.

Holmes' face was quickly overtaken by a growing smirk. She was interested, he could tell easily, from her posture. She was taking this a lot better than Watson's future wife did, but then again was he really trying?

"You spend a lot of money on things that you find are important, rather than necessary, or least, you thought your violin was a lot more important than your appearance. That's a handcrafted violin, made in Florence, isn't it, Miss Irings?"

His eyes were glued to the violin that rested next to her. "Why yes, as a matter of fact it is." She scooted it behind her, before glancing at Holmes. "Please, continue." She decided that this would be a topic to be discussed later. Holmes took this as a hint and continued.

"Anyway, that violin was more important than your appearance, save for one little detail of your appearance." The young woman leaned closer, before she had a sudden realization about how close she was getting. She leaned back, sitting up before motioning to him to continue. "And that's your hair, isn't it, Miss Irings?"

Olivia shrugged her shoulders, before thoughtfully considering this. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But then again, what woman isn't obsessed with their hair?" She countered quickly, before he quickly responded with, "A woman who thinks a violin is more important than buying a much needed new dress."

Olivia gave up. She was beat now, but that certainly didn't send her into a huff and slap fest. "Well then, all that's fine and dandy Mister Holmes, but I don't feel offended at all, leading me to believe that you went easy on me, meaning you don't want me to be upset, so please, take this seriously this time."

Holmes looked at her, and whilst pouring himself tea said, "You don't have a husband, and at your age, that's rather odd. Most women have found a husband and have settled down by now, but you still run a shop by yourself. You might have a helper, but he doesn't run the shop like a husband would. However, I believe that you did have a fiancé at one point in time, but one of you called off the engagement, but I'm assuming that he wanted to keep your shop, but since your name was the only name on the papers, and you two weren't legally married, you still owned the shop, meaning that you kept it. This most likely gave you a feeling of distrust towards any body who tried to get closer to you, especially men. This most likely means that you weren't the one to call off the engagement, but you were quick to get rid of the ring, considering there are no tan lines on any of your fingers. Am I correct, Miss Irings?"

Olivia looked flabbergasted, and she literally tried to push herself away from the man, bringing her hand up to mouth, utterly shocked. "How do you know this?"

Holmes looked at her, leaning back, clapping his hands once to signal that he was done. "I'm a detective, Miss Irings. A good one at that. Certainly you've read about me in the papers."

Olivia's thoughts flashed to the bottom drawer of her dresser, filled with newspaper clippings about him. How she carefully blotted out his name in every single one, how tears stained those, how ink ran off the pages, how ripped the sides were.

"Once or twice, perhaps," Olivia answered, her green eyes focusing back to Holmes with a sharp glance, almost daring him to challenge it. The brunette woman turned to him, before opening her mouth. "You are very good, Mister Holmes." The detective nodded slowly, before he looked at a clock. Already an hour had passed. "Oh, well, look at the time, it's been an hour already, I do think it's time for you to get going back to your shop, Miss Irings."

Olivia stood up, dusting off her dress, before grabbing her violin off the seat next to her. Her case was on the other side of the room, and taking large, quick strides, she crossed it in seconds. She hadn't meant to be that fast, but she just wanted to put space between her, the human, and that man, the monster that destroyed her life. Yeah, perhaps if she repeated it, it would help her regain her sanity. She placed the violin gently back in the case before turning around to fetch the bow, but the detective was standing there with it, handing it to her silently. She quickly put it back in the case, before dashing to the door. "Good bye, Mister Holmes. It's been a pleasant afternoon."

Holmes motioned for her to leave, and she bowed slightly, just in case he was looking. She turned on her heel and quickly trotted towards the door when it opened, revealing Doctor Watson, looking relieved. "Oh, you stayed here the whole time? I'm actually quite pleased that you did, thank you, Miss Irings."

The musician nodded sharply, trying to step around the doctor, who moved out of the way. She bowed to him, though, and as she took a few backwards steps, thanked him a few times. However she didn't say that she wanted to come back. She had convinced herself that if she came back a third time, her plan would be put into motion. If she wasn't invited back, which she honestly hoped she wouldn't be, then she would just forget the whole thing and go along with her merry life.


	10. Lovestruck

A/N: Allo! Welcome! Anyway, this is chapter ten of TSTR named 'Lovestruck' because well. That's where you're going to hate me. It's not my fault, I needed some way to introduce this character, and if you think about it, it really kind of makes sense because all Ollie wants to do is to get rid of Holmes so then in comes in. Well, you'll have to read and find out! Anyway, don't hate me! I'm sorry this is so short, couldn't help it.

Also! I'm now going to be answering questions left by reviewers of messages in the author's note! Yeah!

Quickly, I don't own anything, blah blah except the character's you don't recognize from the movie. Read on readers! And review, please! -B

* * *

The brunette ducked out of the detective's house, hopping down the steps like a little girl. Why was she so giddy? Her stomach bubbled and churned while a pleasant warmth spread through her body. She paused quickly, trying to place this feeling. It seemed oddly familiar; as if it knew just where the warmth affected her the most. She swung the violin in her right hand as she looked up at the window once. The curtains billowed slightly, and she looked embarrassedly at them before turning on her heel to walk towards her shop. However that didn't mean that a dusty blush didn't cross her cheeks as she looked at the window and walked down the street.

She grabbed a strand of her hair, twirling it around her left pointer finger before stopping abruptly. There was that feeling again. Somebody was following her. She turned around, looking at the few people walking on the sidewalk with her. No one seemed to be following her. However, she followed her instincts and took a few steps in the opposite direction, toward the person who was following her. Her brain was frazzled though because after a few steps, she had decided it was enough and she had hopefully scared off her stalker but her feet wouldn't stop moving. When something bumped into her from the other direction however, the spell was broken and she turned around quickly to see a man picking up papers that had fallen out of a book he was carrying.

She eyed him for a second and during this time he looked up at her and smiled cheerfully. Olivia smiled back and helped him up quietly, musing at how beautiful his blue eyes were. She felt like a hopeless love-struck teenager when she looked at them, but she mentally shook her head while he extended his hand gracefully. "Sorry about that Misses?"

Olivia looked at him, wincing as he said 'misses' but covered it up carefully. "Miss Olivia I-," she was about to say Irings when her throat dried up. 'Irings' was no longer a respected name, she scolded herself.

The man looked at her surprised while she looked him over. He had blond hair that was nicely cut at just below his ears and he stood inches above her. The man looked fairly tan and well-built but was obviously not into any sports or anything that must exert him too much. He paused, bowing and kissing her hand like it was some grand gesture all the while grinning softly. When he grabbed her hands, she realized he was wearing gloves. "Well it's a pleasure to meet you Miss Olivia. I'm William Harven, and like I was saying, I'm so sorry about the accident just now."

William looked exasperated, and Olivia smiled warmly to him. "It's no problem, really. In fact, I was just about to turn around and head in the other direction so I would've ran into _you_."

Both of them chuckled like they were old friends while Olivia rubbed her right elbow with her left hand, biting her lip. Oh yes, she was good at this game. William looked at her, before asking where she was headed. She placed her hands and the violin case behind her back before responding with. "My home, well, that's where I was headed before I ran into you," she teased, while he frowned gently.

"Well if you're going to be like that, I won't escort you home, Miss Olivia," he said, holding out his elbow for her. The female musician smiled as she placed her arm through and clung to the blond man, before they walked off, chatting happily. All while a pair of brown eyes watched the couple from just around the corner.

* * *

Olivia chuckled at William's joke, before coming to a halt at her shop. "Unfortunately for both of us, Mister Harven, this is my stop," she said, pulling the key out of her peacoat quickly. William looked saddened but lit up as he looked at the shop's interior when she opened the door. "Miss Olivia, you run a music shop?"

Olivia turned to him, her green eyes lost in a mixture of confusion, surprise, perplexed curiosity. "Why yes, but what does that have to do with –" She started but was interrupted by the blond.

"Can I hear you play?" His blue eyes lit up like a child's but he hesitated quickly and shied away almost instantaneously. "I mean, if it's alright with you, of course."

Olivia's eyes lit up happily. "No, no, it's fine really! I was just surprised is all!" She wove her hand in front of her in defense before letting him into the shop and placed her case on the counter towards the back. "Would you like some tea, Mister William?" she called, already putting some on her stove. William laughed gleefully and nodded quickly a few times while Olivia chuckled. He was a nice man.

* * *

Olivia looked saddened when the sun had gone down and William said that he should go. The brunette quickly opened the door for him, walking him walk out. Just as she was about to shut the door, he stopped, quickly turning around to face her. "Listen, Miss Olivia, I had a really enjoyable evening with you tonight, and if you wouldn't mind I was wondering if you w-wanted to go out for tea again with me Friday. I mean, if you're free, but it's alright if you can't I just. . ." He was fiddling with the ends of his jacket and Olivia smiled dreamily.

"Mister William, it would be an honor to have tea with you Friday." She said, yawning at the end. William looked ecstatic and kissed Olivia's cheek softly. "Until Friday at three then, Miss Olivia."

The female musician didn't shut the door until he was a few yards away, and when she did, she sank against the door, sighing contentedly.

* * *

Thursday morning rolled around and Olivia woke up, a grin plastered on her face. Thomas was already there, which wasn't a surprise, Olivia mused as she looked at her pocket watch. The shop opened in ten minutes and still not a word from Thomas. Odd. She stretched and slid off the bed, grimacing as her bare feet touched the cold wood floors. Without a word she followed her morning routine and slipped on her work dress; however she kicked her shoes away without a second thought. She rummaged through her dresser before gently pulling out a pair of thick wool socks and pulling them on. Softly she walked down the stairs and looked at Thomas who was sipping tea carefully, a warm and knowing smile on his face.

"Thomas?" Olivia called softly, walking behind him and he merely lifted his head and 'hm?' in response. The violinist walked around to get a good look at his face and he looked up at her a smirk crossing his features before he glanced to the counter. Two teacups on their saucers were placed delicately in the open space. His hazel eyes flickered back to her as she was smiling warmly toward them.

Then Olivia's mind clicked. He thought she spent the night with a man last night. Olivia wove her hands in front of her defensively. "No, no, not like that Thomas!" She said, in a quick, slurred voice. Thomas cocked an eyebrow and looked her up and down before smirking. "Then what, Olivia?" he asked slowly, and in the most calm voice he could muster.

Olivia turned around and quickly snatched the teacups up with one hand, glaring at him quickly. "I had a friend over, is all!" she called back, placing the two cups in the sink, before vowing to wash them later.

Thomas laughed wholeheartedly before he covered his mouth. "Sorry Olivia, I just thought that. . ." his voice trailed off as Olivia returned to her seat, throwing a sharp look towards him. "Then don't think next time Thomas. You know me, I am not a cheap harlot!"

Both sat in silence for a while as they both waited for Olivia's next delivery at one o' clock in the afternoon. However, this was broken when Thomas beckoned to the female shopkeeper in a soft quiet voice. Olivia looked at him, still sharply before trotting over to him and placing her elbows on his work station. "Yes, Thomas?"

"I'm sorry I got you angry. But I asked June to marry me yesterday and I thought you should know she said yes. . ." His voice trailed off and Olivia lit up, ruffling his hair gently. "Well good for you and this June woman. Now when do I get to meet her?"

Thomas looked up at her, smiling warmly now. "Sunday evening. Please, wear something nice. Go get a new dress or something, will you?"

Olivia clicked her tongue, remembering what Holmes had said yesterday about not buying a new dress. This would show him, she mused quickly. She looked at her employee scowling softly. "Fine, Thomas. But only for you. I wonder if Delilah would want to go dress shopping with me. . ." She trailed off, looking around the shop for nothing in particular.


End file.
